Longterm Valentine

Stardate Valentine’s Day Year 32 with my darling husband. Last week he went out to try to fix the broken garage door. “I’m going out to screw with the garage door,” he said. “Are you cheating on me? I’m jealous,” I responded. “If it would make you feel better we can have a garage-à-trois,” he offered. So last night, Valentine’s Eve, he gave me a dozen roses and a small box. Inside the box was his wedding band, which he had resized to fit him again. (He had it cut off a couple of years ago when it got stuck on his finger.) In the morning, when we woke up, I pointed to the ring and exclaimed in horror, “What did you do last night? You weren’t even in Vegas.” And he replied, “What’s your name?” I was still wearing my fancy black negligée when I put my wire-rimmed bug-burning eyeglasses on this morning (to read my Valentine) and my husband remarked, “from sex vixen to commie intellectual in one easy step.” Then, when I could see, we exchanged Valentine cards. We had bought each other the exact same card. Remember that old Marx Bros. routine where Groucho gives Chico a bazooka-sized salami and says, “I got you a gift, it’s a salami,” and Chico produces an identical salami from behind his back and says, “I gotta you a gift too-a, it’s a salami.” Lesson: keep laughing and spend as much time as possible in bed together.